


trace every echo back to its birth

by sleeplessmiles



Series: she's so fierce and full of that fire || the lara au [3]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Abduction, Gen, Kid Fic, POV Original Female Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-16
Updated: 2015-12-16
Packaged: 2018-05-07 03:55:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5442443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleeplessmiles/pseuds/sleeplessmiles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When FitzSimmons' teenaged daughter is studying late at her college library one night, she isn't expecting an ambush. </p><p>The <em>very</em> last thing she's expecting is to find a familiar face in the process.</p>
            </blockquote>





	trace every echo back to its birth

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the Emmy AU - not to be confused with the existing emmy verse. This is an AU of that AU. We're getting pretty wild up in here, folks.
> 
> I have to warn upfront that while this will be a standalone story in a sense, it's tied to Ali's broader AU, which is a _SkyeWard fic_. There's no SkyeWard in this particular story, but that's the universe that it's in and with which it will ultimately connect up. So consider this fair warning.
> 
> Now that that's out of the way, I sincerely hope you enjoy!!

****

 

Okay, so she should _definitely_ be doing her thesis lit review right now.

There’s no question about it, really. If Emmy doesn’t get some serious work done on it today, she’s – well, she’s kind of screwed. The literature will keep on piling up and the whole thing will become too big a task by the deadline. She has to meet with her thesis supervisor _next week_ , for crying out loud, and she’s barely even made a dent in it. It’s why she’s staked out in her college’s library this late on a Friday instead of meeting friends (or, hell, even family at this point) for a catch-up.

Ah, the wonders of thesis writing. 

At least her parents are kind of across the situation. Her mother had given her a cheery pep talk that very morning, followed quickly by her dad’s rushed plea to “Please don’t be like your mother was – is – about this stuff. _Please._ ”

So. That’s helpful.

Anyway. It’s not her fault – really, it isn’t. She’s just been… distracted, recently.

And it’s stupid. She knows it’s stupid. She knows that the PhD is the best move for her, that it will only help her in the long run. But no matter how hard she tries to concentrate, she just can’t deal with the theoretical right now. 

See, when she’s back at the base and working in the lab, she’s helping. Designing gadgets and accessories for gifted people – that’s helping. This? Reading over a bunch of papers? She _knows_ it’s important but it’s _killing_ her. 

Slowly.

Painfully.

One terribly written journal article at a time.

Her phone’s message tone chimes then, breaking her out of her trance. Blinking a few times, Emmy checks the time, swearing when she sees that she’s been sitting there for a whole hour since she last checked. _Crap._ Not again.

But it’s then that she notices the quiet surrounding her. _Real_ quiet, not just the muted library quiet.

Weird.

Glancing around, her heart sinks as she sees that this section of the library is deserted. Like, preternaturally deserted – lately, the place has been flooded with undergrads having finals breakdowns, even if they’re not allowed in Emmy’s little alcove here. And that had definitely been going on the last time Emmy was paying attention to her surroundings. Which was admittedly a while ago now, sure, but still.

Yet they’re all gone now.

_Double crap._

Tracing her thumb around and around the panic button on her phone, Emmy bites her lip, hesitating.

She doesn’t want to do press it. She’d hate to put them through the blind panic surely involved, especially when it could all be for nothing. And it probably _is_ for nothing, you know? It’s pretty unlikely there’s anything shifty happening here. Besides: it’d been hard enough for her to secure off-base study time in the first place. She’d be lucky to leave the base again this _decade_ if there’s another incident, even if it’s just a false alarm. 

Sending the entirety of the Playground into a panicked flurry simply because she’s feeling a bit anxious doesn’t really seem worth the potential consequences.

It’s a total overreaction. She’s just jumpy. 

Sighing, Emmy sits back in her seat. 

No panic button today.

But even after making the decision, she still feels kind of off kilter. Something’s just… not sitting right. She only lasts another five minutes of staring at her books before she gives up – or gives in, or something. _Time to get a bit of fresh air,_ she decides, packing up all her papers and shoving them into her satchel.

Maybe she should accept that it’s just not going to happen today, Emmy thinks, trudging out through the foyer and into the disappearing sunshine outside. Her mind’s clearly all over the place. Even if she wasn’t being so jumpy and paranoid, she’s way too distracted to be getting any substantial work done. Maybe if she goes home early, finds a good project in the lab to keep her occupied, she’ll feel better about the whole thing.

Poke around whatever her parents are working on, go pester Uncle Lance. That sort of thing. 

When she makes her way across the deserted lot, what she expects to find is her SHIELD security detail, awaiting her in the off-green sedan they like to use when she’s on campus. 

The sight that greets her is very different.

She slows her pace as she approaches. 

There’s… are the windows blacked out? Why would the windows be blacked out? Surely they would have mentioned something when they dropped her off. 

_What…?_

She takes another couple of steps closer, trying to make out what she’s looking at, and –

Oh, God.

That’s blood.

_No._

The side windows and windscreen are viciously splattered with blood on the inside. Beyond that, Charlie and Trisha lie –

Springing back as though burnt, Emmy slaps a hand over her mouth to stifle the scream rising up in her throat.

Oh God.

Oh, she’s going to be sick.

They’ve been _executed._

_No no no no no no -_

Thoroughly decided now, Emmy slams the panic button even as she lurches clumsily backwards. The heel of one sneaker catches on the ground and she staggers, arms flailing, and the motion seems to jolt her out of her panic somewhat. 

 _Get somewhere safe!_ her brain screams at her. _The library! Get inside!_  

Not needing to be told twice, Emmy turns and sprints back towards the library, heedless of how ridiculous she must look. She slows to a frenzied powerwalk as she cuts across the foyer, headed down the winding hallways towards her reading room. It’s not until she gets into the actual room that her stunned brain catches up with what she’d seen – namely, a man dressed in black, hanging around the foyer ominously.

He’s involved.

She doesn’t know how she knows, but she _knows_. That was not a student. That guy is definitely looking for her. 

Did he do it? Did he murder the SHIELD agents on her detail? 

Oh God, they’re dead. They’re _dead_ , and she’ll be joining them if he sees her.

_Crap crap crap crap crap crap –_

Darting behind a cubicle, Emmy inhales shakily and tries to think.

Okay. Okay, okay. Breathe. She just needs – she needs to find somewhere quiet, somewhere she can call the base. They’ll be on their way already, her parents, and freaking the hell out about it, so she needs –

They’ll know what to do. 

She’s not on her own here.

Taking another deep breath in through her nose, Emmy releases it slowly through her mouth.

You can do this. You’re _Emmy FitzSimmons._ You can _do_ this. 

But then she’s thinking of their bodies again, the bodies of her much-loved bodyguards, and oh, God, Charlie’s got a _kid_ , he’s only two, his dad’s never coming home again and it’s _all her fault_ and maybe if she hadn’t been so goddamned distracted she could have stopped this.

This is on her.

 _There was so much blood._  

Bolting across the aisle, Emmy ducks behind a row of high shelves that are pretty secluded – secluded enough for her to make the call to her parents, anyway. She tries to calm herself, tries to focus on the task at hand.

(All she can think of are their unseeing eyes, their –

She swallows thickly.) 

Double-checking that there’s no one around, she goes into her recent calls list, bringing up the group line even as she tries to shove the bug into her ear. It takes a couple of shots to get it in; her hands are shaking too violently. 

_Get it together, idiot._

Once she hits dial, someone answers on the first ring. 

“Are you okay?”

The tightness loosens in her chest a little; it’s her dad.

 _Breathe._  

“Um,” she half-coughs, cringing at herself. 

“Oh, thank God,” her mother whimpers.

“Em – ” 

“ – They’re dead,” Emmy blurts out, and she didn’t want to lead with that but it’s settling in now, the reality that they’re dead and gone, _murdered_ , just because she’d wanted somewhere different to sit and think. Just because she wanted to pretend to be normal, for once. She chokes back a sob. “Charlie and Trisha. Someone shot them and they’re just – oh _God._ ”

Dad swears loudly.

“Darling, listen to me,” her mother starts. “Don’t you think about that just now, alright? Push it from your mind. Where are you?” Her voice is sharp by the end, barely-contained stress colouring the whole thing, but it’s become business-like. It’s a mission voice.

It’s a silent instruction.

_Treat this like a mission._

Okay. She can do this. She can… 

Emmy swallows back a fresh wave of tears, shaking her head to clear it. 

_Oh God._

“Uh… the library. It’s kind of deserted? Everyone cleared out while I was studying.” 

“Everyone?”

“Um.” She peers around the corner as far as she dares, taking stock of the situation. The place still seems mostly abandoned, although she can see a bit of movement beyond the large glass doors that separate this section from the reading room next door. Panic begins to bubble up in her throat. “No civilians in _this_ reading room. But Mum, it’s still early and it’s a massive library and there are people around and they’re going to get killed just like Charlie and Trisha and it’s all my – ”

“Can you get somewhere safe?” her dad breaks in, cutting off her panicked rambling. “We’re on our way, peanut, but you need to find somewhere safe to wait.”

Emmy winces, glancing around the far edge of the shelves for a better view. Study cubicle after study cubicle, with a few rows of extra shelves and a small counter. Not ideal. “Depends on your definition of _safe_.”

“Look for something closed off.” It’s May. Emmy feels a twinge of relief at the sound – the person her parents look to in a crisis is involved. That’s _good._ “You want to be able to guard the entrances. Too many open angles and it’s not safe enough.”

That makes sense. The logical part of her brain kicks in, thinking it over as she surveys the space again. 

 _Have your breakdown later; right now, you’ve got work to do._  

“Emmy?”

“There’s a copier room. It’s – over the other side, but it’s closed off. I think the door locks. That okay?”

“Yes,” her mother half-laughs, something like relief in her voice. “It’s perfect. Can you get to it?” 

“I think so.” 

“You can,” May states simply, and Emmy finds herself once again grateful for the woman refusing to beat around the bush. 

“Um.”

Peering out from her hiding place again, she could swear her heart just about stops when she spots that same sinister figure beyond the glass doors. He stops with his back to her room, looking about, before strolling further down the corridor and out of sight.

He’s not gone though, is he? She’s not that naïve. He’s nearby, and there’s no way she’s going to risk running out into the open without – 

A distraction. 

She needs to create a diversion. 

_Come on, think think think think –_

Yes! 

Digging through her satchel, her searching fingers finally locate a small, metallic object – the exact thing she’d wanted. She almost grins at her luck.

_Bingo._

It’s just a crappy prototype, a little remote controlled drone that she built to show some kid of one of her parents’ friends, so there’s no issue if she can’t get it back. Should do the trick.

“Emmy?”

“Hold on a sec.”

With a few quick taps, she brings up the remote control app that she programmed into her phone. At her command, the drone lifts up out of her hand, hovering on the spot, and Emmy feels a small surge of satisfaction at the fact that the thing still works. She steers it over to the door that she’d stupidly (stupid, stupid, _stupid_ ) left ajar, beyond which the sinister-looking black-clad man had been wandering, then directs it out of the room. Clicking another few buttons, she sets it to autopilot.

There. That should pique his curiosity for a little bit. 

Emmy closes her eyes briefly, trying to calm the roiling mess of panic and adrenaline in her veins, before opening them again and double-checking that no one’s gotten into the room. Finding it clear, she turns and bolts for the copier room. She’s aided by the fight or flight rush in her veins, so she clumsily slams into the door when she gets to it – oh _crap,_ that was loud – but then she manages to wrench it open and throw herself inside, slamming it shut with her back and –

She did it.

She made it.

Wow.

_Okay, but it’s not over yet. You need to focus._

Trying to get some actual air into her lungs, Emmy quickly takes stock of the room. It’d be best to shove one of the copiers in front of the door, she thinks, create some sort of barricade, but there’s no way she’s strong enough to even budge it from the looks of things. She could try, maybe? On the other hand, there’s a table she could kind of wedge under the handle. That’d hold it for a bit, surely.

And hey, with a bit of luck he won’t even come looking for her in here.

(She’s never been very good at believing her own optimism.) 

Making quick work of the table, she pushes back the blonde tendrils of hair that have fallen into her eyes. 

“Okay, I’m locked in. What now?”

“Oh, thank God.”

“That’s my girl. Have you got any of your designs with you?” her dad asks. Emmy’s eyebrows shoot upwards in response – it’s hardly where she expected him to go with this. Choosing to trust his judgement, she quickly thinks over what she’s got in her satchel. 

“None of the important stuff, but…” _Oh. Crap._ “I mean, I’ve got my sketchpad with me? The one with all my ideas and – ” 

She’s cut off by her dad swearing again. “It’s a new one?”

“Well, yeah, but – ”

“Burn it.” 

Emmy blinks. “Sorry, _what_ now?”

(She isn’t sure her brain is even functioning properly anymore. Is this shock? This is shock, right? It has to be.)

“You need to burn the designs so no one else can get them.”

“Are – You want me to start a fire? In a _library_? Are you crazy?” she whisper-shrieks, her mind absurdly filled with images of Alexandria.

“Just do it, Imogene!” her mum orders. 

(And when all’s said and done, Jemma Simmons telling you to set a fire in a library is how you know things are dire.)

“Shoot. Okay. Um.” Glancing rapidly around the cramped space, her eyes land on a small metal bin in the corner. She could set a tiny fire in the bin, right? God, but then the smoke will get out, and probably seep under the doors, and –

But Dad said. 

Placing a hand briefly on her chest, Emmy attempts to slow her rapid breathing. Then, steeling herself, she flings her satchel off her shoulder pulling out her sketchpad and rifling around blindly until her fingers happen upon –

There.

A lighter, emblazoned with an obnoxious Union Jack. Uncle Lance had given it to her as a present back when she started her college degree, with a sly wink and a quip about fitting in, right before her mum and Bobbi had rounded on him and lectured him for hours about the dangers of smoking. And honestly, she totally agrees with them – not that it’s important right now. 

She still carries it with her, is the main thing. It was the thought that counted, after all, and it’s super sweet – and, as it turns out, super useful. She’ll have to thank him for it later.

If there even _is_ a later.

Gulping, she shoves her sketchpad into the small bin. She’s unable to stop a cringe from spreading across her face as she sets fire to a few pieces of scrunched paper, dropping them on top of book. The fire catches on alarmingly fast, spreading to consume her precious sketches.

“Sorry, guys,” she murmurs.

There’s shouting from beyond the door then, several aggressive voices raised frightfully loud, followed by a large clanking sound. Emmy closes her eyes against the fresh wave of fear washing over her.

“Are you guys close?” she asks on a whine, voice trembling stupidly. _Keep it together. Come **on.**_  

“May?” her mother asks.

“I’m on it,” May grits out, her words punctuated by the distinct sound of squealing tires and other car’s horns beeping. She must be driving, then. “Morse.” 

There’s a crackle of static, followed by a sharp inhalation that’s unmistakably Bobbi. The sound brings Emmy some semblance of comfort; there are people coming for her. There _are._  

But her relief is short-lived.

“Maybe ten minutes off,” Bobbi half-yells, all apologetic.

 _No._  

“Hang in there, munchkin,” Lance adds on, sounding more panicked than she’s ever heard him. It makes her stomach churn.

She starts coughing then, the smoke from the bin having clouded the room alarmingly fast and bearing down thickly upon her lungs. 

 _It’s going to start seeping out_. 

“What’s happening?” 

“The – ” she coughs, “smoke, from the book. It’s – ” 

‘Is there a window?’ 

“Yeah, but… won’t people… see…?”

“You need oxygen, Imogene,” Mum says, and there’s a hint of something almost normal in the impatient way she says it. It has Emmy feeling a surge of affection for her.

“Fine.” 

Kneeling on a chair so that she can reach, she cracks the small window open, greedily gasping in the clean air as the smoke dissipates. Once the smoke has cleared though, revealing the reality of what’s happening outside? Emmy almost wishes the smoke could obscure her view again.

 _Oh no._  

The grounds are _covered_ in mercs – the front of the library is absolutely teeming with them. A couple of dark-windowed vans have pulled up, and black-clad soldiers with concealed faces and automatics are pouring out, organising into groups and approaching the building.

There are… so many. Too many.

Emmy feels her heart sink, a strange calm overcoming her.

Because it’s over now. There’s no way anyone will make it in time, and she can’t take on that many trained professionals alone.

 _God._ It’s really over.

This is really happening to her. 

“Emmy, what’s wrong? Talk to us,” Dad pleads.

She doesn’t want to put words to it, doesn’t want to make it _real_ , but the certainty is settling into her bones now. There’s no use delaying it.

 _They took out my bodyguards. This was_ planned.

“There’s…” she swallows back tears. “Um. Twenty people in tac gear that I can see? Maybe more.”

Her mother makes a distressed noise, the likes of which Emmy has never heard before. “God, it’s him. I _knew_ it was him.” 

“You don’t know that,” May replies urgently.

“Who else would it be?” Mum exclaims.

“Simmons, it’s been _15 years_ , why would – ”

“ – I don’t _know_ but – ” 

“They’re here for me, aren’t they,” Emmy cuts in, her voice dull and flat. “It’s… I’m the target.” 

A strained silence falls across the line, the quiet cutting a stark contrast to the direness of the situation. She barely registers it anymore, though. Mostly she just feels numb.

_I didn’t do anything wrong._

“Imogene…” her dad begins gently, and Emmy’s struck by a wave of dizziness at the sound. 

(He _never_ calls me that.)

“I’m – ” _Scared,_ she thinks she wants to say. Part of her wants to apologise, weirdly enough, although she doesn’t really know why. 

_Sorry for not being more, for not being better. For not stopping this._

“Emmy, listen to me.” It’s Bobbi. Closing her eyes and taking a moment to gather herself, Emmy nods. ‘You with me?’

 _No._  

“Yeah.”

“Remember that move I showed you, and I told you to never ever use it on another person?”

“Um. Yes?” 

‘Use it now.’ 

_Oh God, this is really happening._

“Okay,” she whispers through her tears. 

A sudden crashing sound makes her flinch, and she knows from the direction of the commotion that the black-clad mercs have made it into the library. They must be beginning their search.

For her.

“They don’t know you have training,” May tells her. “That’s your advantage. Use it.”

“No, we – we can still make it.”               

“Jemma – ” 

“There has to be enough time, Fitz! There _has_ to be. Emmy, you don’t let _anyone_ touch you, do you hear me? You fight with everything you have. _Everything._ ”

 _Oh God._  

“Mum…” she chokes out. 

“We’re almost there! Fitz – ”

“Jem, she has to be ready.” 

“No,” her mother moans. “Fitz, we _can’t_ , she’s – ” 

“I’ll be okay, Mum,” Emmy sobs. It only makes her mum’s agonised gasps louder still. 

_“Emmy.”_

“I love you guys,” she whimpers. “You know that, right?”

“Of course we – ”

“ – we love you so, _so_ much – ”

There’s a banging at the door, people thumping hard on the surface and barking orders at one another and then thumping even harder, making the table shake and the door rattle in its frame, and Emmy knows she’s on borrowed time now. Glancing down at the lighter she still holds in a clenched fist, she decides to drop it near the copier.

_They won’t take this from me._

“We’ll _find_ you, Imogene,” Mum sobs. “I promise you we’ll find you. I _promise_.”

“I know,” Emmy whispers, putting her back to the wall opposite the door and sliding down into a foetal position. They’ve organised some sort of system on the other side of the door now, hitting the door in rhythmic bursts. Every hit makes Emmy jump. Holding back a whimper, she bites down on her lip hard enough to draw blood. 

“Can you, um. Stay on the line?”

“We’re not going _anywhere_ ,” her dad swears. There’s a weird quality to his voice, almost like he’s crying too.

“Thank you,” Emmy whispers, a fresh round of tears springing to her own eyes.

Then the door bursts open, way too many mercs spilling into the small room and training large guns on her, and Emmy curls herself even tighter into a ball.

“Please don’t hurt me,” she begs. “I’m just – ”

“Get up.”

“I’m fifteen years old, I’m just a kid – ”

“ – I _said_ , get up!”

_He’s approaching too fast he’s not falling for it you have to act go go **go** –_

Straightening her legs abruptly, Emmy kicks to take out the merc’s feet. As he goes down, other mercs yelling out urgently, the guy closest to her reaches for her – she aims a hard kick at his kneecap, cringing at the agonised howl he releases. It’s propelled by an unexpected sense of muscle memory that she manages to scoot backwards and scramble to her feet, and she’s raising her fists to fight but there are three guys already converging on her, one who’s alarmingly close, and –   

_Use it now._

Grimacing, Emmy whirls around and executes the throat punch Bobbi taught her. It makes a sickening sound as it connects, the guy gurgling and wheezing and clutching at his throat and _oh God, what did I do what did I **do**_ – but her moment of distraction costs her because she’s being grabbed roughly now, one merc grabbing her from the other side and another attempting to pin her arms down. 

“No!” she screams, writhing in their grip as though possessed. “Get off, don’t _touch_ me! Help! _Help!”_

There’s a pinching at her neck from behind – one that she distantly recognises as the sensation of a needle sticking into her – followed by a cool rush that seems to flood her body, taking over her senses. 

 _Please no –_  

The guy holding her arms wrenches her shoulders back, and she cries out in pain as the white blankness of agony flashes over her mind. With one last burst of strength, she kicks her legs, lashing out and hoping against hope that she can hit someone. She feels her foot connect with something hard and there’s a sickening crack and splatter, followed a pained groan, but she can feel her energy waning now. She can feel as she loses control over her limbs, panic rising up in her throat.

“No… get off… me…” 

As everything goes black, the last thing she hears is her parents screaming in her ear.

 

 

 

-

-

 

 

 

When she comes to, she’s being dragged roughly along a dark corridor. There’s a guard on either side of her, holding her arms in their harsh grip, and she’s ostensibly walking but really, her legs are just kind of uselessly being pulled along behind her. The whole thing’s a little bit startling and incredibly jarring. It doesn’t help that her mind is still kind of foggy, vision still a little blurred. 

At least it’s keeping the abject terror at bay.

_What did they even give me?_

“Mmwhat…?”

But then they arrive at their destination, apparently, because she’s being tugged into a darkened room that’s… lined with cells.

Great.

Wrenching open one of the doors, they dump her unceremoniously on the ground – well, okay, they just push her in, but her legs are still waking up from whatever the hell they dosed her with earlier because they collapse under her pretty much straight away – before slamming the cell door shut and locking it.

“Is this how you treat all your guests, or just the underage ones?” she spits out after them, her voice slurring but only a bit shaky. She’s quite impressed with herself, actually; that was almost like something out of a movie.

(And given the fact that she feels like she’s about to puke, it’s a pretty good effort.) 

They don’t answer, of course. Huffing to herself, she pushes her hair back off her forehead, cringing when her fingers encounter something drying and vaguely sticky.

_Ugh. They messed up my face?_

The blood around her temple feels like it’s mostly clotted though, forming little clumps in her hair, so she’d guess that it’s been a while since she’d been hit.

Had they hit her in the fight? She should probably remember this, right? Ugh.

She’s just about to begin cataloguing the rest of her injuries – start with the splitting headache that’s forming behind her injured temple – when there’s a bit of movement to her right. Glancing up, she startles.

_Oh._

It’s a shared cell wall. That’s… strange. There’s nothing but a few bars separating her from the woman slumped in the corner of the next cell, her dark hair obscuring her features. As though Emmy had spoken aloud, her cellmate chooses that exact moment to look up.

Emmy freezes. Her mouth drops open.

_No._

She blinks, shakes her head a little.

There’s no way.

No way. 

But it’s difficult to argue with empirical evidence, and there is a _lot_ of it. The woman’s hair is different to the photos – a little bit shorter than the princess curls she’d once sported, with long-ish sort of bangs, but that’s to be expected after so much time has passed – and she looks tired, older. Dirtier. Her wrists are encased in tight-looking gauntlets, and they _could_ be handcuffs, but Emmy knows a thing or two about a) tools and gadgets for Inhumans and b) handcuffs.

And those? 

Those are _definitely_ not handcuffs.

She notices Emmy looking then, tilting her head a little in appraisal, and the attention makes Emmy feel like her stomach has dropped to the floor. 

“Welcome to the party,” the woman drawls, giving her a tight, fatigued smile. And although the expression is subdued, it’s unmistakable – the familiar curve of her lips, that fire behind her eyes that has always shone through every picture of her. Emmy _knows_. 

This is her. 

This is her parents’ best friend, who went deep undercover one day and simply never returned; the one they’ve told Emmy about for as long as she can remember, fondness mingling with sadness in their expressions. This is the lost team member that all her aunts and uncles reminisce about, sharing beers late some nights when she’s meant to be in bed (but she’s really eavesdropping out in the hallway, struggling to stay awake as they swap stories). This is the woman who’s the very reason that Emmy’s in the field she’s in. 

This is the lost piece of the puzzle that is their family.

This is _her._                              

This is Skye.                         

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Title from 'Hold Still' by Sleeping At Last. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!!


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